I WISH I WAS THE MOON
by Lady Schnabel
Summary: AU. in which the Hale House fire occurred twenty-three years ago and pup!Derek was found by Deputy Sargent John Stilinski and taken into the Stilinski family as a pet.
1. Chapter 1

Five years prior to my birth, there was a suspected arson case that claimed the Hale House in the woods of Beacon Hills. John Stilinski, my father, went out to the scene to investigate as he was newly appointed deputy. The police discovered multiple remains of human bodies and canine carcasses in the basement. Eight, in total, including Mr and Mrs Hale, their relative Peter Hale, the couple's two other children and dogs that were beloved to be their pets. The third child, an infant boy, however, was never found. The police immediately launched a search mission to find the missing infant. Suspecting the arsonist would have taken the baby, they set checkpoints to major roads and warned all supermarkets to look for suspicious people who wander the baby supplies sections. The search went for days. John Stilinski went back to the Hale house in desperate hope, walking around the burnt house to seek for any trails of the arsonist. There was none, no trails, no evidences, but an ugly pup with black fur, curled up tight in a pile of fallen leaves, was what he found instead. He took the dog with him.

The infant, however, was never found.

I still can pull some hazy memories of me as a toddler, crawling all over a black dog that lies so indifferently in the living room. I remember the feeling of rough furs. There are few photos that caught me pulling his pointy ears. The dog certainly does not look happy. Mum used to tell me how he just sat there with me, protecting me from hurting myself, yet constantly irritated as if he despised the whole concept of babysitting. But he never growled or bared teeth at me, and I have passed my infancy without major injury so I'd say he did a decent job.

The situation didn't change much as time went by. I struggled to take him for a walk because he scarcely listened to my orders. In fact, he didn't listen to me at all, but oddly he was very protective of me once we went out for a walk. He never growled or barked at other dogs or their owners when he was out with my dad, but for some unfathomable reasons he would be constantly jumpy and on alert with me. Also he would roll over for my dad or mom, but never for me. The only occasion I could convince him to go for a walk was when I had a ball in my hand. It's pathetic, really, to even use the word 'convince', but that was what I really had to do. To convince my dog to go for a walk with me. My god.

There were some weird things with him, too. For example, he often got snappy on full moon, like having PMS. A male dog on PMS! And he howled. A lot. When dad took him to the vet, he said he might be a wolf mix. That explained the wild looks and full moon thing. Or that he didn't appear getting old even when he became 15 years old. I mean, normally big dogs don't live that long. Maybe his wolf blood did some magic on that matter, too. I don't know.

After mother got diagnosed with cancer, things went pretty bad. Her health deteriorated rapidly and we were lost. We grew restless. The dog, too, grew restless. The time blurred and stretched out as trips to the hospital became frequent. The faint odours of pure alcohol, disinfectant and antibiotics snaked through the door when we returned home. The fear gnawed at our hearts. I remember when I found my mother sitting on the sofa languidly, her brown hair falling off like dead leaves. He -the dog- was curled tightly beside her, facing her friable, exhausted face. I remember his eyes. They were filled with concerns. To this day I ponder what he was thinking. But I think he knew that he had to say goodbye to her soon.

As if to prove that, one day he disappeared on a full moon, and came back with mud all over his paws few days later. He lingered a couple days, wandering around the house, sniffing, gazing at things as if he was never going to see them again. Then the next day, he was gone. She passed away few days later. Her last breath slipped out like a ghost.

Devastation was what overwhelmed us. To lose two members of the family at one blow, one from cruel force and one from some unknown reasons, it was hard. We had some tough time to recover. But eventually, as it is how the universe works, we eventually got out of the hell. Now I stand here, before the door of an apartment which will be my new home for the forthcoming college years. I knocked on it a minute ago and it is now open, with my new roommate leaning against the doorframe. He has black hair that is nicely set with wax, gorgeous hazel eyes, stubble, amazing biceps and generally beautiful physique.

So, why am I telling you this now? About my missing dog and stuff? Good question. The answer is, I don't know. I needed something to babble about because,

"What…?"

-Because, this guy standing here, with surprised eyes, looks nothing like the quiet Asian guy the landlord described.

Instead, he oddly reminds me of my missing dog.


	2. Chapter 2

'So it was s fucking SCAM?'

'Yeah, dad. I double checked the address and all the papers. This IS the place, except, I'm not actually meant to be here.' Whispering, Stiles sighed and rand a hand down on his face.

His dad fumed, barked and snarled, swearing that he would hunt that sick bastard down and hang that said man personally. Stiles did not object. This situation, awkwardly sitting on a complete stranger's couch, was beyond the embarrassment that he never, ever expected to have. Never. The guy, who actually owns this place, kept staring at him across the living lounge.

'...So?' He asked.

'Oh. Yeah, umm, I think,' Stiles answered, trying to make it light and casual. Actually, it was anything but light and casual. Holy shit, Stiles felt panic creeping up, because this was just a pure disaster. He had to look for a place to stay. And get out of this embarrassment before he dies from it. _Fast_. 'I think there was a mistake. Sorry. Wrong address.'

'A _mistake_?' The guy said, slowly. His voice was full of suspicion.

'Yeah. Look, I'm terribly sorry for all this fuss,' Stiles said quickly and stood up and grabbed his bags. 'I gotta go now. I'm really sorry, dude, just popping out of nowhere in the middle of a night and claiming that I'm gonna share your place, that's totally random. I'm sorry, really.'

The stranger seemed to be disorientated by Stiles' fast mumbles. As he marched towards the door, to escape this situation as fast as he could, the guy followed him.

'Are you-' he asked.

'Well I can't stay here, can I. Tell me there's a motel around. Please.' Stiles begged, walking down the aisle to the door. It was eleven p.m. He was desperate for a bed.

The guy just stared at Stiles. It was a perplexed one, and desperate at the same time. Desperate? Desperate for an unexpected intruder to leave, Stiles thought.

'Around the next block, but-'

'Oh THANK GOD,' Stiles breathed loudly. The guy gave him an odd look, but he silently opened the door. 'Man, thanks. And again, sorry.'

'Wait. If you mistook the address, why do you need to go to a motel?' a pause. A wondering gaze, lost words, and hurried departure. Stiles turned around and quickly left. No. Let's rephrase that. Stiles turned around and _ran away_.


	3. Chapter 3

When Stiles thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, it did.

"AH, AH, AH-,"

"Do you like that, bitch? Do you like my cock in your sweet ass? Hmm?"

"YES- Ohmygodplease, YES!"

He found three hotels a couple blocks away. And being short of cash is a bitch. As the result, he had to choose the dingiest place which turned out to be infested with cheap gay porn makers and their twinks who miserably fail at making fake moans. Of course it did not help Stiles to sleep.

"Oh… god, that feels good, so good…"

You're not convincing, Stiles muttered. He would do better than that and he is still a virgin.

Staking a pile of pillows over his head, Stiles was already regretting his decision to come to college. He got scammed, got no money, no remote relatives or even a friend. The city is such an alien place. Everyone he knew were miles away, at Beacon Hills or in other places all over the States. In this whole miserably city, there was no one. Apart from the guy. Except for the guy who reminds Stiles of his missing dog that is probably dead by now – because no dogs can live for twenty three years.

Screams subsided. The bed continued to creak but it was tolerable. Stiles rolled over, closing his eyes once again.

It wasn't his look that recalled his dog. As it is absurd to say a particular dog looks like Michael Jackson or J. F. Kennedy, one could not simply conclude that a man remind you of a dog by a look. It was more of an odd smell than a mere glance that invoked such bizarre idea.

Believe or not, if you ever had a dog for a long time and loved it hard enough, you grow to be similar to your dog's odour. As their faces become distinguishable, so does their individual scents. In general, Stiles thought, dogs smell sweet, constantly dirt-y, with a hint of ammonia, wetness, old sweat and stale doritos. Perhaps there's a dash of cheese, too. But each dogs smelt different, as far as Stiles thinks. And his dog had woody-earthy tone on top of that 'general dog odour'. And when it snowed, his dog used to charge into piles of snows and roll over them like it has gone mad. Hell, who knows he actually had gone insane?

But the point was; the guy had that smell on him. It was faint but enough to make Stiles wonder. He had dog fur all over the couch, too. Maybe he has a dog, but it was weird to not hear any barking or to see a shadow of it. As far as he remembers, his dog was the first one to stand before the door when there was a visitor. Dogs are territorial.

It's three thirty five in the morning.

Stiles is still awake.

And the twinks are still moaning and screaming.

It did not take long for him to get into pants and grab his wallet. Coffee. He needed coffee desperately. The street was silent with hollow rumbles of passing cars and winds and orange streetlights. He crossed the road and got into a diner that was still open. Sitting down on the booth near the window, he idly cast his eyes on the hushed street. A sleepy waitress approached and took orders. He felt uneasy because he had no spare cash to pay decent tip.

Priority number one; Stiles needed a place to stay. Somewhere. Anywhere. Local newspapers should have information. After a few hours of sleep he would wake up and look for shared rooms or apartments so that he could move this stuff and settle in for the next-

HOLY SHIT.

The waitress jumped. So did Stiles because he realised that he shouted that out loud, and, also because he remembered that his father sent the parcel to that apartment couple days ago. It should be there.

Panic. Sheer, utter panic hit him. Why didn't he mention it when Stiles was there? Did he return them? He could have, since no one likes to take boxes of parcels with unknown contents from unknown address. Or dumped them? Shit, he probably dumped them as soon as he got them because who would put some stranger's parcels in their house? People get rid of boxes with uncertain contains. All the sudden the guy's suspicious eyes made sense.

It meant that Stiles had to go back to that place in the morning. He had to know where his parcels are. Searching for a new place could begin after that. If he didn't dump the boxes, Stiles hoped that the guy will be nice enough to hold those until he found a new place to stay. And if he threw them away, Stiles was most likely break down and cry like a little girl.

Shoulders slumped, Stiles walked out of the diner. The waitress glared at him from behind. September night was bitter in LA. Or perhaps it was the misery that troubled Stiles that made him tremble. Alone, with no place to stay, no money, no job, no friends-

The guy was good looking, very hot, confident and attractive, and Stiles felt wretched to sit on his couch and try to explain the situation. Or, actually, to hide it, because Stiles was instantly attracted to him despite the fact that he smelt like his dog and he did not want that attractive man to pity him.

Stiles walked to his motel room and slept. Coffee always worked magic on him.

In his caffeine-induced dreams, he heard his dog's whines and sounds of his claws scratching the door. His dream-self woke up, opened the door and the dog climbed on the bed with him. It made happy whines, nuzzling its wet nose into Stiles' chest.

Stiles could swear, in the following morning, that he could smell his dog on the quilt.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: the address used in this fic is real but the name of the venue is fictional.

* * *

It rained later that morning. Stiles flicked through all newspapers as he could get access to, yet his effort was infertile. His phone was about to die. Four forty-five, and it is dusk. Day is incredibly short. Not a single place was fit to his budget. Not a single person said okay when he explained that he is short of money so it's most likely he can't pay for the first fortnight and also he doesn't have enough for deposit. After twenty-odd rejections and rudely ended phone calls, he just flopped onto the bed. Of course, as he thought, it was impossible to get a room like that. No one would willingly rent a room to a poor college student who has absolutely no money. Outside seemed to be flooding with oddly vivid orange light as clouds dissolved after rain. Silence was suffocating. Coldness was terrifying.

He has been to the guy's apartment earlier that day. He walked, because he didn't want to waste petrol when the numbers in his bank account was almost next to zero. What if the boxes are not there? The five minutes of walk to there felt worse than the last SAT he had. Butterflies buzzed in his stomach crazily. It was seven thirty a.m. when he got there. He spent solid fifteen minutes knocking on the door. No answer. Thank god, he muttered. Thank god for what? He pondered. He slipped a note under the door. Hopefully the guy sees that and calls him.

This can't be happening, Stiles thought, as he walked into his motel room. This can't be happening. He thought he had enough shits but clearly the universe thought otherwise.

Perhaps his father could help him if he explains well.

"…Screw that." He sneered.

He was not a boy anymore and that was what he told his father when he left home. And his plan was to stick to that statement. No. He will find a way and survive this hell, just like he pulled through the mess that almost made his good father alcoholic. Cheep gins, dammit, that never-ending march of scotch bottles in the recycling bin and the nasty tang of drunkenness-

_We could have had it all-_

…Lydia.

Stiles fumbled his phone out of his jean pocket. She must have changed his ringtone at the last party they went in Beacon Hills. He remembers that party. It was where he almost – so close! – lost his virginity, not to mention he was completely wasted. And no, he most certainly did not almost lose his virginity to Lydia. Yes he has had massive crush on her since grade 3 and he still does but it's without sexual desires. He knows his sexual identity. Lydia is the most badass girl he'll ever meet in his life and also the smartest. It's awe that he feels, not teenage love. They spent the whole night together near the edge of woods, drinking, laughing and doing stupid things like burning a stinking budgie smuggler – Stiles still has no idea where that came from. Maybe they stole it from the party. Blame alcohols. – and killing themselves, laughing.

"Hello,"

"A little bird told me that a certain someone got scammed big time,"Lydia giggled.

"Absolutely no idea what you're talking about." Stiles answered, and he could not believe how sulky he sounded.

"Oh come on, Stilesee, you know you can't lie to me. I told you that pedo was sus."

Sighing, Stiles lied on the bed. Lydia knew already – god knows how she gets all this information – and there was no use for denying what she knows.

"…Who told you this?" Because whoever that will be he would kill that person.

"We have a mutual friend in Beacon Hills police station, you know."

"David, that bastard." Stiles swore that he will kill David this Christmas. Danny can cry a river when his brother dies, he didn't care.

"Don't be so sulky like that, sweetie. So are you finding a new place or gonna live on streets as you've always wanted to?"

Oh for the love of- She is a witch. Lydia Martin is a witch. Stiles loves her but she is a witch and he is not going to deny that.

"Just to make things straight, no I'm not living on streets. I'm looking for a place to stay and I swear I'm gonna get out of this shitty little motel within this week. Do you have any idea? This place is full of gay porn makers and their screaming twinks! I'm gonna leave. Very soon. And hey, I never wanted to live on streets, I just wanted to live in the woods with my dog and I said that when I was six. So bugger off, witch!"

"Oh no no no, baby. No need to be nasty like that. Be nice or you won't get this information."

Information? Stiles got chills. This is getting scarier and scarier every second.

"…What information?"

"Umm, I don't know, the one that can save your sorry ass from that little hideout of yours?"

"…Okay what can I do for you, your highness, in exchange?"

"Haven't decided yet. But you owe me one and you're gonna pay me back. I'll name the price when the time comes."

"Witch."

"Do you want it or not?"Lydia laughed slyly. He knew that the price of this information would be ridiculously high at the very least, yet what choice did he have? He was the losing one here, with the hilt of sword tightly gripped by the witch called Lydia Martin.

"Right, fine, you won. I owe you one. Now please give – "

The phone shook with a series of short buzzes. Stiles checked the screen. It was an incoming call from an unknown number. It must be from the guy-who-smells-like-his-dog. He must have come back from his work and found the note.

"Hey I gotta hang up now,"

"What? What about the information?"Lydia asked.

"Still want it, I'll call you back later, 'k?"

"Whatever, doofus,"and she hung up.

Finally. Stiles gave a stare at the screen of his phone. Taking a big breath in, He switched to the newer call.

"Hello," Stiles said, his voice slightly trembling with nervousness.

"Is this Stiles?"

His voice was low and deep. Stiles had to admit that he developed a crush on this guy who smells like his missing dog.

"Yes. I'm sorry to bother you again, but I gotta ask you if you have my boxes. I think I posted it few weeks ago."

"They're here. You just didn't give me a chance to talk about it the other night."

Stiles felt ashamed. He barely remembered what has actually happened last night. It was all blurry with panic and awkwardness. Yet Stiles screamed silently. At least he has his stuff somewhere safe. Perhaps he could sell some stuff – even though they're mostly personal and valueless – to get some cash. The city should have some pawn brokers, shouldn't it?

"…Hello?"

"Oh, sorry, still here." Stiles said. "Can I collect them now?"

"Sorry, I'm really late for work," He said through jiggling sounds of keys and a thump of a door. "Come to Howlers' Grand in downtown if it's really urgent. It's on 515 W 7th street."

Is it urgent? Stiles hesitated to answer. It wasn't urgent, he knew, to visit someone's workplace which sounded suspiciously like a bar or someplace dealing with late night customers. Is he a bartender? Stiles wiped his mouth just in case he was drooling. Well, if that's the case, it is an urgent matter now.

"Uh- okay." You can't sound any dumber, Stiles thought.

"Good," He chuckled.

"By the way I didn't catch your name?" Stiles asked, cutting the other's words.

There is no response from the other side for good five seconds. Stiles wondered if he already hung up.

"Derek," He breathed out, and all Stiles hear is a continuous line of muted signal.

* * *

Yeah I know! Surprise surprise, He was Derek. Well hope you guys liked that, and sorry for updating so late! As you will see in the writing I was write-blocked for a month :(

Oh by the way I have no idea if Danny really has a cop brother or not. But if he does have a brother no doubt that he will be a hot one… like older Danny in cop uniform. And Derek being a bartender is one of my dirty little fantasy too *-_-* But how Derek, the former pet of Stilinski family, ended up working as a bartender in downtown L.A.? Someone brought him here five years ago. You'll find out who it is!

Oh Just letting you know, I don't even live in US. I've been to US only once in my whole lifetime and that was New York. Which means I have never been to L.A. actually, so folks of L.A. please excuse any mistakes that I'll make in this little fic. But that address I used up there for Derek's workplace is real, it's a bar called Seven Grand!


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles headed to the L.A. downtown. His head was swimming in a pool of swirling thoughts. They were those kinds that couldn't be worded in a language, or any language, but can only be labelled as primitive instincts. Lust, for example. No. Scratch that. Where did that even come from? Confusion, Stiles finally found, was a better description.

Nightfall was dark and thick. The road was busy but tolerable. Tall streetlights rushed towards him as if to collide into his Jeep, like kamikaze fireflies, then twisted their path and gracefully disappeared into darkness behind him.

And here he is, standing before the door. He couldn't remember how he got to Howlers' Grand. It was still early to have a bar bustling with people, but the place seemed decent enough. A bunch of college students gushed into the venue, laughing and yelling nonsense. Stiles got pushed in with them.

Three bartenders were tending patrons and serving drinks. Stiles tried his best to act cool, or let's say socially un-awkward. He walked towards the bar and sat on a stool.

Derek instantly jerked his head up from the three shots he was making.

"Hey," Stiles greeted.

"Hey," Derek answered, surprise evident in his voice. "So it really is that urgent."

"Oh, well, actually, not really, but since I didn't want to impose on strangers I barely know – " Stiles wanted to smack himself. Rambling is so not cool. And it made no sense. "and I gotta find a new place, really."

"So the hotel wasn't you liking, then." Derek chuckled.

"Oh my god, it was the worst. The most horrid place ever existed on the face of the earth. The curtain had stains that look like dying cats and the hallway is so full of porn makers and there were straight guys and prostitutes everywhere – "

It didn't take long for Stiles to realise Derek's stare. He managed to shut up.

"Um, sorry, I didn't introduce myself properly. I'm Stiles Stilinski." Stiles offered his hand.

"Dere – "

"Derek!" A boy ran into the bar, almost slamming Stiles off the stool. Derek rolled his eyes. Well, that conversation went very well, Stiles thought awkwardly.

"I am not giving you another drink, Scott. Go home." Derek said coldly at the whining boy. He didn't look too drunk, but he certainly wasn't legal. He looked 18, or 19, top. And another thing was that he looked strangely familiar to Stiles.

"Oh, come on, Derek. Just one more! I barely had any– " He slumped over the bar. Stiles moved away from the boy, feeling uncomfortable. And little bit curious. Then Scott started to sob. "I'm no fine, Derekk- Aallisson has left – "

Derek frowned. He waved his hand at Stiles, indicating to move away.

"Deeereekkk – "

"Shut up, Scott. I said no more. If Peter gets to know about this it's me who's gonna get fucked up, not you."

"But," Scott raised his body, protesting.

Stiles knew his face. That stupid, goofy face was more than familiar.

"Wait. Scott? Scott McCall?"

Scott turned to Stiles, as if he just realised there was someone next to him. He frowned.

"Do I know you?"

"Oh my god! It's you!" Stiles screamed. He gave the biggest hug he could to the perplexed boy. Derek just didn't know where they were going. "It's me! Stiles! Stiles Stilinski?"

Scott stared at Stiles for a full minute. His jaw was starting to drop.

"NO WAY!"

"Yes, man! Holy shit, dude! I haven't seen you for ages – "

Before Derek could say anything, Stiles was being dragged to Scott's booth. When later Erica brought orders from their table, Derek gave her three bottles of beer without further words.

Scott McCall was Stiles' best friend, until his family move to L.A. That was four years ago. They used to do all sorts of stupid and childish teenage things in their elementary and junior high. Stiles tried to keep in touch with him, but they gradually grew apart from each other. It turned out that Scott has (or had) a girlfriend who is the national champion in archery. And it is her departure for an overseas training program that brought Scott here tonight.

"Man, don't worry. Skype her. It's not like Korea doesn't have any internet?" Stiles said. "Though that actually depends on which Korea she is going. South, yeah?"

"But it's three months! I can't do this, Stiles. I can't."

"Jesus, stop being so pathetic, man. It's not like she's not coming back. I'm the one who's fucked."

"What? Why? Did Lydia leave too?"

"How do you remember Lydia?"

"Oh come on, dude. You practically worshiped her."

"Well. Not technically, because we were never together, and partly yeah, because she's in Princeton. But that's not a problem."

"Then what is it?" Scott asked as he glopped his beer down.

For a second, Stiles hesitated. It was certainly embarrassing to speak of the dumbest thing he's done in entire life; signing a rend contract and paying a lump sum of deposit without investigating the property, but his desperation would outlive his embarrassment. Besides, he didn't need to explain what happened to him in detail. The point was that he needed somewhere to stay.

"I need to find a room to share. Really bad." Stiles said.

"Man, too bad." Said a blonde boy, popping out of a crowd gathered around the pool table and pushing Scott into the booth as he squeezed himself in it. "I got Scotty's room last Monday."

"Hey, champ." Scott swung his arm around him and laughed. "Stiles, Isaac. Isaac, Stiles. He's my best friend from Beacon Hills."

"Wha- I thought I was your best friend!" Isaac yelled.

"Sharing is caring." Stiles said.

"Listen, I understand you want a room, but I really don't recommend living with this guy. Especially when his love of life is gone to Korea. By the way which one was it, again? Not North, yeah?"

"Shut up! She's not gone. She'll be back." Scott said, sulking.

Stiles laughed and gulped his drink.

"Then can you do me a huge favour and ask around? I really need to get settled before the college starts. Which is this Monday."

"Well today's Saturday." Scott said.

"Exactly my point, champs."

"I don't know if he's looking for a roommate," Isaac intervened, directing the bar with his bottle and raised eyebrows. "But he's got a spare room."

It unnerved Stiles, really, because he had a bad feeling that he already knew whom Isaac was referring to. But just to be polite he asked anyways.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Isaac nodded. "See that guy? That brooding one. He's Derek Hale. He looked pretty intimidating but he's actually a big softy. Ask him."

A number of reasons to refuse the offer tumbled into his mind, but Stiles had to admit that they were all lame. And he could absolutely not say no because Derek smells like his dog. It was a new life, this whole college thing, and he must not ruin it before it even starts.

"Uh, thanks."

"Do you want me to ask him? You probably don't know him yet – Derek!"

Isaac bolted out before Stiles could grab him. He turned to Scott, who was sprawled on the table and mumbling something sounded like 'Alyson'. He crawled out of the booth, too, after Isaac. Isaac was already at the bar, leaning on the table as a drunk teenager would. Stiles realised that he was not walking straight. He cursed his wobbling legs and spinning vision.

"-diots." Stiles heard Derek cursing under his breath when he reached the bar. Isaac was grinning silly like a bobcat, and Derek looked around the almost empty bar. "You're drunk. Who gets drunk on beer, seriously?"

Completely disregarding Derek, Isaac went on; "Have you met Stiles? He needs a room!"

"No, actually, I'm-" Stiles tried to say something, but he was shushed by Derek's furious brows.

"And you need to go home. Where's Scott?"

"Oh come on- don't be a party pooper!" Isaac whined.

A heavy sigh escaped Derek's lips. His lips. Stiles almost bit his tongue when he realised he was looking at Derek's lips. He blamed it on alcohol.

"Stay right there, you two." Derek said as he went inside.

Stiles decided that alcohol wasn't helping him. Not a single excuse popped in his head to avoid this situation, whatever this situation was.

Several minutes later Derek came out of the 'staff only' door. Judging by the leather jacket on him, he was off work. His expression was pure irritation, but he was nowhere close to anger. It must be a regular thing for him, Stiles thought, as he followed Isaac who was being dragged to the booth where Scott was sleeping.

"Use your legs, dammit." Derek cursed as he lifted Scott up. He literally put Scott like a potato sack on his shoulder and held Isaac on the other arm. Knowing nothing better to do, Stiles simply followed him outside.

They went around the building and got to the employee parking area. Stiles helped holding Isaac who was constantly slipping out of Derek's grip. When they got to Derek's car – the gorgeous black thing, with slender yet built body – Isaac and Scott were shoved into the passenger seats.

"Thanks." Derek said as he closed the door.

"'s fine." Stiles slurred. "Uh, umm, then I'd better be off."

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To my car?"

Derek made a noise which was nothing more than a scowl. He opened his front passenger seat, and pointed it with his chin.

"Get in. You're not driving blind like that."

"I'm not gonna- I'll just sleep in my Jeep." Stiles protested lamely. It only made Derek more annoyed, clearly, because the next thing he knows is that he is being shoved into the car just like Isaac and Scott.

"Your stubbornness, Stiles, is really fucking unbelievable." Derek muttered. Or rather, Stiles thinks he hears Derek muttering so when he feels the bartender puts the seatbelt on him. It was not clear. He just sits there, disorientated, and drifts into sleep.

He feels the car stopping once, and hears Derek dragging two boys out of the car and kicking them into their apartment. That's what he thinks he hears, at least. Then the car resumes moving.

Stiles wakes up, in the next morning, in a room full of boxes and soft sunlight of ripe morning. No more fake moans, no more uncomfortable smells. He jumps out of the bed when he reads his name on the box and sees Derek's face in one of the photos on the night table.


End file.
